


The Western Air Temple

by Isa2244



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Air Nomad Genocide (Avatar), Gen, Horrors of War, The Western Air Temple - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:15:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25651963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isa2244/pseuds/Isa2244
Summary: Zuko's search started at the Western Air Temple, but he didn't find the Avatar. He found something else instead.
Relationships: Aang & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 150





	The Western Air Temple

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because a) I was in the mood, and b) I think the massacre, and what the aftermaths and implications did to our beloved protagonists, need more spotlight.

**The Western Air Temple**

Located in the mountains just north of the Fire Nation, the Western Air Temple was a massive complex situated underneath the edge of a cliff, its spires giving the appearance of having been built upside down. Grass grew up the rocky sides that saw the most sun, and other plants were plentiful in that shade, while statues overlooked the cliffside, relics of a race long gone, their past scattered to the four winds like leaves in an autumn breeze. 

Zuko knelt in front of the statue of Avatar Yangchen.

His Uncle and the crewmembers he had thrown together before leaving the _Wani_ had not made the descent yet, but Zuko hadn't been able to wait for them, his rage and determination demanding to _finally_ begin his search for another relic of the Air Nomads.

He had not found the Avatar.

(Instead.)

(INSTEAD.)

The scar on his face was still fresh, a mere week old, the charred skin aching under the healing salves and bandages his ship's healers had slathered it with. It burned as the first tear fell, bringing with it memories of fire and pain and shame and being lost. He could still feel it. All of it.

But for the first time he knew that he deserved it for another reason.

(He was a child of Agni.)

(He carried on the legacy of those who started it.)

The winds gave him no peace, pushing harshly against his prone form, whipping at his hair, held in a proud phoenix tail, but he remained, frozen and still. Haunted.

(The irony.)

The sun tried to bask him in warmth, but he felt numb.

(He deserved it.)

Still he knelt, head bowed, back straight. His hands were folded in front of him, held in his lap over a glint of ivory, and he couldn't think straight. None of it made _sense_.

(Had they known?)

(Did their successors know?)

The children of the Fire Nation were taught that the Air Nomads had an army. That they had risen up and fought against the very idea of a world of peace and wealth. A world of strength and warmth. A world just like _home_.

(BUT.)

It was one thing to know history, another to see the results with your own eyes. His overextended mind wavered with vertigo as he stared down at his lap, down at a horror he hadn't known existed.

(He should have known.)

(He WAS Fire Nation.)

And yet Zuko had never considered the methods his great grandfather had used for this first step.

(He should have.)

The sound of footsteps reached his ears – his good ear – but he didn't look up as his Uncle approached.

Uncle.

The crew of the _Wani_.

Some of them had killed – they were soldiers after all. There was blood on all of their hands.

(Even his own.)

(He WAS the son of Ozai, great grandson of Sozin.)

Had _they_ considered it?

Zuko moved slowly, twisting around and staring up at his Uncle, hands still clutching the precious burden resting in his lap.

He tried to speak, but no words left his lips. Instead he shifted and presented the object in his hands to his Uncle.

A skull.

It was small, painfully so, certainly not large enough for anyone above five, with scorch marks stretched over the empty eye sockets.

Iroh did not say anything,

(maybe he could not)

he just stepped forward and wrapped him up in a hug.

(Did children fight in the Earth Army? Toddlers? _Babes_?)

Zuko felt the urge to laugh but all he managed was a sob.

(Why?)

(WHY?)

The Royal historians had never mentioned children. Children who had to die for the destruction of the Air Nomads to be complete. It had always been the Air Nomad Army, skilled fighters who had attacked unprovoked when the Royal firebenders had proposed the ideals and ideas of Fire Lord Sozin and his Nation to their spiritual leaders, under the flaming tail of the Great Comet.

A comet that had made the firebenders so much more powerful, giving them an enormous power advantage.

(Over CHILDREN of Air.)

Children older than him, children younger than him, born in this temple, raised in this temple, ~~slaughtered in this temple~~ , left forgotten and damned, and he _knew_ how painful their deaths must have been.

He knew.

Zuko sat in silence, his Uncles arms still wrapped around him, head bowed once again, sending silent prayers to anyone who might have bothered to listen. "There are more", he finally said, his voice as empty as he felt. "So many of them."

"We need to put them to rest."

_ _ _

It had been two days since the Avatar – _Aang_ – and his friends had let Zuko join them in their fight against ~~his father~~ Fire Lord Ozai. He was sitting on the stairs leading down to the small arena Aang and he had claimed for their firebending lessons, twirling a cup of water in his hands. He sighed.

"Zuko?"

Aang was watching him. The boy had accepted him the moment Toph had uttered her vote of confidence, a fact that still baffled him.

He had been their enemy.

He had been a successor to the man this group had sworn to bring down.

He was a child of fire.

(He was of _destruction_.)

Zuko stood abruptly. "I have to show you something," he said.

Aang looked at him, _stared_ at him, and nodded, seeing _something_ , then rose to follow him. "Okay."

He took Aang all the way around to the east side of the temple, a hike that took some time. He could see why airbending would be useful. Their way to the massive stone statues was made in silence, even the winds had gone still. Avatar Yangchen dwarfed him, as she had _then_ , _before_ , and Zuko bowed his head.

"Ehm, Zuko?"

He took a moment before he spoke. "When I started my mission to capture you, my first stop had been the Western Air Temple," Zuko began, head still bowed, looking at stone feet larger than his arms, not seeing. "I didn’t expect to find you here, not really, but I had hoped to find some clues about your whereabouts. About the Air Nomads." He took a deep breath and turned to face the boy.

(He was so young.)

(It made him want to shelter the boy. Protect him.)

Aang's gaze had turned serious. He remained silent and still, a stark contrast to his very nature.

"I wanted to learn everything there was to learn, to get an advantage when the time came that I would have to face you. I didn't find anything. I – " He paused, collecting himself. His voice was soft, yet somehow stronger than before. "There were no scrolls left. The libraries had been destroyed, as had been several reliefs portraying what I now belief must have been important aspects of the Air Nomad culture. Your culture."

"Aang, I – I'm sorry."

Aang opened his mouth, but Zuko shook his head, a silent plea. "I am sorry. I didn't find anything about you or any airbending scrolls or anything that could have helped me. Instead –"

(Instead.)

There were tears in his eyes and he felt no shame.

"We buried them, my Uncle and I, with the help of my crewmen."

There were tears in Aang's eyes as well, his gaze glassy, a child who had seen too much, learned too much, silent, haunted, he _knew_ ,

(he wasn't the only one)

and yet he followed Zuko to the edge that overlooked the cliffside. The height was beautiful; Zuko had always loved climbing the buildings of the Fire Nation palace. He stared down that sheer cliff, down into darkness.

"Uncle didn't know much about funeral rituals of the Air Nomads, but I didn't want to … It didn't feel right to –" Zuko's voice grew distant and he pointed down.

"In the end we didn't have to do much. We gathered them here and said our prayers and suddenly the winds picked up and pushed them over the edge."

Aang was crying now and Zuko bowed his head.

The winds gusted again, calmer this time, despite their closeness to the edge, perhaps answering their last child's silent prayers, brushing Zuko's hair almost gently.

(He didn't deserve it.)

(He hadn't been able to do _anything_.)

"I had thought, at that time, that there was nothing more life could do to me, nothing worse than losing all I had, nothing worse than being burned and banished and fighting for love, nothing more terrible than failing my father. I was _wrong_. There had been something more, some unknown horrors, and it dawned to me, right here, right then, that _this_ might have been just the start of it."

"Zuko?" Aang's voice was hoarse with silent cries and screams and prayers, and he smiled faintly.

He _smiled_ and the look on his face was one of gratitude, and a breeze now blew, soft and gentle.

(He didn't _deserve_ –)

(He _didn't_ –)

( _Did_ _he_?)

"Thank you."


End file.
